SOTF Archive/SOTF Classic

Ugh.

What had been perfectly acceptable pizza the night before had morphed, in its chrysalis of Saran wrap, into a soggy, limp, toppings-sliding-off-sweaty-cheese piece of disappointment that looked more like recycled garbage sitting in front of him than it did a meal. Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, Marc glared at it and wished that he'd gotten up earlier and actually made himself a decent lunch instead of grabbing leftovers out of the fridge and throwing them into his backpack at the last minute. Or brought money for lunch. But as it is he didn't and he didn't and now this is what he was left with.

Fuck. And he was hungry too. He could feel the first tendrils of irritation curling through him as he sat with his feet up on the next chair over and his backpack on the chair after that, taking up a full three, three-and-a-half spots just because today? Today he did not feel like dealing with people. Not when he'd already had to deal with gross leftover pizza that smelled like a weird combination of tomato sauce and dirty microwave. Not when he knew that if he didn't eat he'd just  be even more hungry and irrationally pissed off at the world by the end of the day. Not when he knew that Sam got off work early tonight which meant he couldn't even just grab McDonalds on the way home because then Sam was going to bitch at him again about vegetables and not eating fast food for every meal and it's just going to turn into this whole goddamn thing and Marc? Marc did not have the patience for things at the best of times.

He poked at the unappetizing mess in front of him, detaching a pepperoni on a long string of what used to be mozzarella and now resembled some kind of freakish mucous.

This. Fucking. Sucks.

ALISON BERNHEISEL - PREGAME START

Alison had made the mistake of staying behind to ask Mr. McClellan for some last-minute studying help. Talking to the man was talking to a brick wall; he'd done a lot of hand-waving at her questions, speaking vaguely before just telling her to study with friends and that she'd "be fine." A small part of her wished that she'd gotten a more engaging history teacher for her senior year, but she supposed that it was better that she could devote more energy into her more intensive classes.

It was still a letdown, though.

Her unfortunate decision led her to arrive to the cafeteria much later than she'd expected, which put her at the very end of the lunch line. While she hadn't been dying to get a grilled cheese sandwich, Alison was still miffed that almost all the seats were taken by the time she'd received her lunch.

After some scanning, she spotted a sparse table across the cafeteria, with a lone occupant. Alison was familiar with Marc, though she didn't know him personally. However, it was difficult to ignore his..fiery reputation. Although a plethora of incidents from sophomore year came to mind, she'd heard that he'd actually mellowed out as of late. Surely he'd calmed down enough to allow her to eat lunch around him in peace.

Alison purposefully strode towards the table, sitting down a couple seats away. "Hello, Marc." she chirped, putting on her best smile. A long time ago, she learned that addressing someone by name helped them feel at ease around you. Sure, she wanted to keep interactions between them to a minimum, but she could at least afford him some pleasantries. It was only polite, after all.

As Alison sat down at the table, Marc gave up on the pizza and shoved it away from himself, letting it sit limp and disappointing a few inches away from him as he pulled his backpack up onto his lap, rummaging through it with the vague hope that it might spit out something else edible. Fully committed to ignoring her with the assumption that she would do the same, her greeting caught him off-guard. Pausing in his search for a long moment, Marc shot her a suspicious look from under lowered eyebrows.

He knew her, of course, at least vaguely. She did some shit with student council. Always seemed to be involved whenever things were happening. They had at least a couple of classes together, he decided, but couldn't remember if they'd ever really talked beyond asking to borrow a pencil or some crap like that. Was it possible she wanted something?

...well, probably the seat. It hadn't exactly escaped his notice that the cafeteria was crowded at this time of day, that's why he'd deliberately taken up as much space as he could. Otherwise he'd be surrounded by assholes. At least as far as assholes went Alison seemed like she wasn't too bad.

But he still wasn't giving up the seat he'd reserved for his bag. "...Alison."

Marc glowered, but didn't say anything besides her own name. Alison figured as much. She didn't exactly expect him to be fully reformed over two years, but at least he wasn't openly hostile.

Alison gave him a polite nod in return before digging into her lunch. As she did, she watched Marc rummage through his bag out of the corner of her eye. She'd seen him discard some old pizza as she sat down, and a small part of her felt sorry for him. With other friends, Alison would probably say something. But with Marc, the less she talked, the less strife would occur. Besides, she doubted he'd take up any offers she'd have.

So she shrugged, and went back to her own sandwich.

The search of the bag proved fruitless, and also any other kind of food less. A few cookie crumbs on the bottom and a crumpled Aero wrapper still sticky with chocolate were the only remotely edible things inside and Marc wasn't exactly that desperate. Yet.

Alison didn't say anything else to him, just turned her attention back to her lunch. Grilled cheese, by the look and smell of it. Marc's mouth watered. Fuck, he loved grilled cheese. Growing up it had been one of the first and most frequent meals Sam had made for him, white Wonderbread with Kraft slices and maybe a tin of Campbell's tomato soup if he remembered or his mom was around to bitch about vegetables.

Compared to that, the pizza looked even more pathetic. Shit. What was he going to do? He wasn't about to up and ask Alison for her lunch, fuck, he wasn't that bad off. But it looked so good and he was so hungry. Gritting his teeth, he lifted the slice of pizza and took a bite off the end, chewing minimally before gulping it down. Soggy, salty, and gummy, exactly what he'd expected.

It might be worth noting that at this point he'd been staring, hawk-like, at Alison's sandwich for far longer than was socially acceptable.

She'd noticed the staring. Alison had already suspected that his grasp on common courtesy was poor, but this was just sad. Though to be fair, her own side-eyeing wasn't polite either - but she got away with what she could. After all, Marc couldn't judge her if all his attention was on her food.

Oh, it was almost pitiable. Alison paused and glanced down at her sandwich, which she'd eaten about half of. It might've been odd to give him less than half of her sandwich, but she supposed it was the good thing to do. Alison wasn't partiucalrly hungry that day anyway, and unlike Marc, she had some milk and sides to enjoy. It wouldn't hurt to offer this olive branch.

Besides, it'd stop his staring.

She lowered her sandwich back onto her tray, and picked up the small plastic knife they'd given her. Clearing her throat, Alison turned to Marc and offered her warmest smile.

"Would you like part of this?"

Oh fuck. Alison had noticed the staring. Fuck, shit, of course she had. Why was he staring like a dumbass anyway? What was he expecting? That she'd open her mouth and--

Oh.

And, of course, she did. Marc felt himself hunch defensively over his mutilated slice, suddenly caught off-guard in an uncomfortable tangle of embarrassment and shame that morphed rapidly into indignation. Who the fuck did she think she was, offering him her food like that? Did she think he was starving? That he couldn't afford his own lunch? (Okay so at the moment he couldn't, but...) Was she one of those people who got off on the idea of being nice? Probably. She was probably sitting there, judging him and his stupid pizza, judging his stare like she was fucking better than him, offering up her leftovers like she was some kind of saint. Bitch.

"I'm fucking fine," he snapped, ignoring the tiny voice inside that really, really, really wanted that grilled cheese. He took another, bigger bite of the pizza too, glaring at her like he was trying to prove his lunch was even better than hers and that there was no way in hell he'd ever possibly want her leftovers.

Alison's jaw instinctively clenched. She could understand how some people's pride could perceive charity as condescension, but at the very least they could be polite about rejecting it. Why had she even bothered? The chances of Marc making that drastic of a personality shift was a long shot, but she'd still taken her chances. While it may had been the right thing to do, it didn't lessen the sting of those words.

For a moment, she let her brows furrow and her look darken. But Alison caught herself, and took a deep breath in, and out. She was going to take the high ground on this matter. If Marc wanted to be rude, that was his prerogative. She quietly turned back to her sandwich and took another bite, hoping that someone much more polite would come around. She could use some better company.

As Alison's look started to turn to a glare, Marc felt his fists instinctively clench and his own look settle firmly into a scowl. But then she turned away, back to her sandwich and away from him, a dismissal as clearly obvious as if she'd said it aloud.

Almost as quickly as it had risen, the heat and anger coiling deep in the pit of Marc's stomach started to fade away (or not exactly, not completely, but to return to the banked heat of coals just sleeping and waiting for another round of fuel to spark their leaping flames). He turned his own attention back to the pizza and finished it quickly, ignoring the slightly slimy feel in his mouth and unpleasant aftertaste of plastic. He thought he could hear Sam in the back of his head, pissed-off and Ydisappointed, shaking his head, Jesus Christ, Marc, can you not be an asshole for once in your life?

Yeah, well, apparently the answer to that was no. Fuck it anyway, he told himself, she'd deserved it, hadn't she? Being all condescending, being pitying, treating him like...

...okay so he had wanted the grilled cheese, yes, but she still didn't have to act like...

Like what?

Like exactly the way he'd kind of secretly hoped she'd act like?

Congratulations, Marc. You truly are an asshole.

He thought, vaguely, about apologizing. That sounded right. Like he should say he was sorry, the way Sam told him he should apologize to  Mom after their fights or the way the counselor told him he should to basically everyone he dealt with on a daily basis. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to say it, couldn't make the words come out of his mouth. Instead he swept his stuff haphazardly into his bag and kicked his feet off the chair, getting to his feet and slinking away back through the cafeteria, feeling oddly like he'd just lost a fight he didn't even know he was in.

[Marc St. Yves continued elsewhere]

For a moment, there was a tense silence. Alison kept her eyes down on her food, intent on shutting him out entirely. If they didn't speak another word to each other, there was a chance that they could both have their lunches in peace. She hoped that Marc got the memo.

There was a shuffling sound from outside her peripheral vision, though Alison didn't turn her head. She only did so once she heard footsteps fading away, and by the time she'd glanced over, Marc had disappeared into the crowded cafeteria.

Alison exhaled, her shoulders dropping. The her mood lightened considerably once he had gone. Even if she had ignored him, his presence was still somewhat oppressive. At least now she didn't have to consciously avoid looking at where he'd been.

Her eyes wandered the cafeteria, hoping to spot someone. While she didn't have any qualms with eating alone, Alison preferred to have some good company. Luckily for her, an underclassman she recognized from the track team was milling around. She grinned and called the girl's name, beckoning her over.

Maybe this lunch period wouldn't be so bad after all.

((Alison Bernheisel continued elsewhere))